little bird
by the average gatsby
Summary: "She slowly lowered Fleur's wand, her eyes less hurtful & more hurt. Seeing this change in her triggered the family man in Charlie, & he lowered his arms before stepping forward towards this lovely creature. That was a mistake." Charlie/OC. Post-DH. Rated M for sexuality, coarse language, graphic violence, & mature themes. FORMERLY KNOWN AS "SURRENDER".
1. stay afloat

**Title:** little bird (formerly known as 'surrender')

**Summary: ****"She slowly lowered Fleur's wand, her eyes less hurtful & more hurt. Seeing this change in her triggered the family man in Charlie, & he lowered his arms before stepping forward towards this lovely creature. That was a mistake."**

**Rating:** Rated M for sexuality, coarse language, graphic violence, and mature themes.

**Author:** Ebony (This Ebony Bird).

**Beta:** Proofreaders outside of FF.

**Characters:** Charles Weasley, various OCs, Weasleys, Trio, Order of the Phoenix.

**Pairings: ****Charles Weasley/OC-centric. Includes William Weasley/Fleur Delacour, Arthur Weasley/Molly Weasley, Harry Potter/Ginny Potter, Ronald Weasley/Hermione Granger, OC/OC. Mentions of OC/OC, Charles Weasley/Nymphadora Tonks.  
**

**World:** Post-Hogwarts. Canon-compliant.

**Setting:** England and France, a bit of Romania.

**Genres:** Romance, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Adventure, Angst.

**Status:** In Progress.

**Disclaimer: **I'm going to say this once and once only. Canon material is owned by Joanne K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing (UK), Arthur A. Levine Books (US), and Warner Bros. Entertainment, Inc. This would not be FanFiction if I owned the Harry Potter franchise, so don't expect me to act like I do. Unless stated as otherwise, all original characters and plotlines are fictional. If there is any similarity to situations in other stories or real-life circumstances that you may recognize, it is purely coincidental. I tend to plagiarize my own ideas, so if you are familiar any of my other stories you may see parallels and crossovers with subjects matter such as languages, circumstances, et cetera. All p_re-story lyrics go to __Ed Sheeran__ because he is beautiful and I love him and Rupert Grint._

* * *

**little bird**

* * *

"_Ripped gloves, raincoat, tried to swim and stay afloat."_

* * *

She wasn't running fast enough.

Tree branches tore at her face.

The pelting of rain made the ground slippery.

The moonlight cast shadows of the wicked trees.

There was barely any moonlight.

The ground was uneven.

She couldn't see.

She wasn't moving fast enough.

She was going to get hurt.

She was hurt.

She was barefoot.

There hadn't been time to grab shoes.

Or find shoes, for that matter.

She wasn't moving fast enough.

She saw a flash of blue light out of the corner of her eyes.

The girl –Olivia, she was sure– a few steps behind her dropped down onto the forest floor, screaming.

Screaming.

Screaming.

Silence.

She almost turned to look back.

No.

She couldn't afford to.

They had come so far.

She was going to be free.

They were all going to be free.

No more chains.

No more spells.

No more rituals.

No more men.

No more Silas.

No more fear.

No more pain.

No more dungeon.

No more blood.

No more hurt.

No more death.

She made a vain attempt to swat some of her dark blonde hair out of her eyes.

The greasy strands were once again plastered to her face with the rain.

She shoved them off of her forehead and out of her crystalline sapphire eyes.

She knew that she was covered with

Dust,

Dirt,

Sweat,

Tears, and

Blood.

None of that mattered anymore.

She could bathe when she was free.

They were going to be free.

Freedom.

Freedom at last.

The six of them that were left had escaped.

It was Ariane's idea.

None of them knew how she did it.

But she did.

Then they were free.

Ariane died on the way out.

She died to save them.

The young blonde woman attempted to clear her other thoughts and focus on putting one foot in front of the other.

Left.

Right.

Left.

Right.

Left.

Right.

She was going to be free.

Left.

Right.

She kept going.

Left.

Right.

Left.

Right.

She could still see Silas' perfectly chiseled face staring stonily down at her.

His sharp grey eyes bore into her.

He saw through her.

He knew her.

Salty water dripped down into her mouth.

She realized she was crying.

She kept running.

She had to move faster.

_'BANG!'_

More light.

Green light.

Two more dull thuds echoed through the broken forest.

Thuds belonging to lifeless bodies.

One of the men swore.

Swore at her.

"_Revenes-ici, petite garce!_"

They were yelling now.

Yelling.

Shooting spells.

Laughing.

Running.

Chasing.

Hunting.

Just as the foxhound preyed upon the fox,

The terrier preyed upon the rat,

The owl on the mouse,

The heron on the frog,

The wolf on the rabbit,

The dragon on the cattle,

They were the hunters.

She was the prey.

Prey could not afford to slip up.

They had to stay alive.

"Reducto!"

Branches from the tree in front of her fell loudly to the ground.

She didn't have time to react.

She screamed.

She tripped.

She could not get up.

She was too tired.

Death would welcome her.

Death had welcomed them all.

First:

Christine.

She misbehaved.

They punished her.

One of the girls woke up to see Christine's bodiless head on their pillow.

There was a note.

_'Silas n'aime pas les filles folles.'_

_-LP_

Second:

Marcie.

Beautiful, _belle_ Marcie.

They had raped her until she bled.

She was Avada'd when they were done with her.

Third:

Isabelle.

She tried to stand up to the captors.

They slit her throat.

Fourth:

Sia.

She was the youngest.

She was too weak to Change.

She bled out in the streets.

Fifth:

Annette.

She tried to comfort the other girls.

Raped.

Strangled.

Drowned.

Sixth:

Jolie.

Couldn't Change.

Green light was the last thing she saw.

Seventh:

Electra.

She was the first to Change.

She was too powerful for them to control.

She slaughtered ten men.

They built a bonfire to "celebrate".

Electra didn't come back down that night.

The castle smelled like burning flesh all through the next day.

Eighth:

Ariane.

Tried to escape.

They didn't even bother torturing her.

Ninth:

Olivia.

Escaped.

Avada'd.

Tenth:

Amélie.

Escaped.

Crucio'd.

Avada'd.

Eleventh:

Terra.

Escaped.

Crushed by fallen tree.

The blonde woman closed her eyes and waited to die.

Memories of the past year flooded her mind.

_Silas grinned. _

_His hair was slightly disheveled from work, but somehow, as she watched, each strand slowly put itself back in place. _

_He always looked like this._

_Clean._

_Proper._

_Professional._

_Normal._

_Silas was not normal._

"_Normal" has a last name._

"_Normal" doesn't own an abandoned castle._

"_Normal" doesn't capture young girls._

"_Normal" doesn't keep them locked in a dungeon._

"_Normal" doesn't brainwash people into following them._

"_Normal" doesn't allow its minions to rape the young girls at their leisure._

"_Normal" doesn't force a girl to take the shape of something that she is not._

"_Normal" doesn't speak in Tongues._

"_Normal" doesn't speak in Tongues and expect the girls to understand._

"_Normal" doesn't speak of nonexistent deities with odd, Gaelic and Latin names._

"_Normal" isn't Silas._

_Silas isn't normal._

"Ma cherie,"

_He croons._

_He extends a wicked, pale finger to stroke her chin._

_She flinches away._

"_Ah ah ah_."

_His grin stretches wider._

"Ma petite. Ma petite moineau._"_

_He uses her nickname._

_He always uses her nickname._

_He killed her family, and took her nickname._

_That was one year ago, on Hallow's Eve._

_Fresh tears sting at her eyes._

_Her mother is dead._

_Seonaid Ffyddlon was the most beautiful woman in the world._

_Her hair was dark, the colour of walnut wood._

_When she sang, the whole world stopped to listen._

_The birds stopped chirping._

_The wind died down._

_Only the sun shone brighter, its rays seeking out Seonaid and shining right through her._

_She was made of stars._

_Silas wasted no time in casting the Killing Curse._

_Her father is dead._

_Jacques Chevalier was the heir of the entire Chevalier estate._

_He was adored by all. _

_All except for Silas._

_A simple spell and a flash of green light had him lying dead on the floor._

_Gabriel._

_He was her eldest brother._

_He held her as she cried._

_Avada Kedavra._

_Edouard._

_His mental illness had him hiding in the closet._

_He was so scared._

_He didn't understand what was happening._

_He was so scared._

_Avada Kedavra._

_Estrelle. _

_Her eldest sister. _

_She looked just like their mother._

_Avada Kedavra._

_Sophia._

_She tried to fight back._

_Avada Kedavra._

_Siria-H__élène and Joelle-Evelyn._

_Her identical sisters._

_She did not see their deaths._

_Silas said they had already been taken care of._

_Celidh._

_The youngest. _

_She was crying._

_Crucio._

_The screams of a frightened ten-year-old girl reverberated through the house._

_Crucio._

_Crucio!_

_CRUCIO!_

_Avada Kedavra._

_Then Silas had turned to her._

_The last one._

_Ma petite moineau._

_Then they came to the castle._

_There were twelve more girls._

_Silas loves her._

_Her._

_He calls upon her more than the others._

_Which brings them back to their current point._

"Je vous hais."

_She replies._

_He steps closer._

_The stench of him wafts into her system without welcome or appreciation._

_She feels like she's going to throw up._

"Tu salaud._"_

_The blonde beauty spits at Silas._

_He merely grins, ignoring her insult._

"Chante pour moi, ma petite moineau."

_He always says this._

_Every time she's up here._

_Every time that they drag her up from the dungeons and chain her down. _

"Va te faire froutre, connard."

_Swearing at him feels good._

_It's like she has power._

_She doesn't._

_His hand comes down hard on the side of her face._

_He speaks in Welsh this time._

"Rydych chi'n meddwl eich bod mor smart, aderyn y to bach." _He pauses._ "Ydych ch'in gybod beth sy'n digwydd i adar bach oedd yn hoffi chwarae german peryglus?" _His lips are next to her ear._ "Maent yn cael eu bwyta gan behogiaid."

_She pretends not to understand._

_He knows she does._

_He always knows._

The memories stung as they came back.

They were like salty ocean waves when the tide comes in.

Slowly,

Then all at once.

She was drowning in them.

"_Arielle! Ici! Levez-vous! Dépêchez-vous!_"

Lucie's voice.

Arielle felt once-gentle hands seize her arms and yank her to her feet.

"_Merci_," She choked out.

"_Nous ne pouvons pas vous tuer, mais il y a d'autres choses que Silas n'a pas interdit!_"

The voices of their pursuers rang clearly in the unnaturally cool night.

Her throat caught as she realized what they meant.

Silas needed them alive.

Still, they could be

Raped

Tortured

Cursed

Damaged.

Her heart missed a beat from fear.

Her feet didn't.

Jets of light flashed by them in hues of green, red, blue, and purple.

Lucie's perfectly emerald green eyes lit up with the streaks of magic coming from the wands of their pursuers.

Arielle was suddenly jealous of the other girl's beauty.

She knew it was stupid.

They were running from people who had tortured them.

They were running from people who had raped them.

They were running from people who had killed their friends.

They were running from people who had killed their families.

And still, Lucie was beautiful.

Her normally pin-straight, onyx-coloured hair was curling pleasantly with the dampness of the rain.

Her eyes, the aforementioned emerald, were lit up with a sort of hope that Arielle had never seen before.

How was it possible for someone to look so beautiful on the most dangerous night of their lives?

Arielle felt self-conscious.

She could be killed any second, and she was worrying about how she looked.

Her long, wavy, dark golden hair was unruly, flush against her skin with raindrops.

Her eyes were red from crying, but their clear silver gaze shone through the night.

They were a lighthouse of hope in a hazardous sea of grey storm clouds.

She did not know it,

But she too, was beautiful.

"_Ne me quitte pas!_" Lucie cried.

Arielle nodded.

"_Oui!_" She shouted back.

_'BANG!'_

The world upturned as the ground beneath their feet burst with the pressure of a magical explosion.

Arielle and Lucie were knocked to the ground by the sheer force of the spell, and quickly tried to scramble to their feet.

A stream of bright gold light came from the direction they were running towards.

Arielle screamed.

There were more of them.

There was more than she had ever realized.

They were everywhere.

There was no hope for her and Lucie now.

"_Les filles! Pouvez-vous m'entendre? Nous sommes ici! Aide est à venir!_"

New voices that Arielle had not yet heard boomed around her.

People were coming for them.

They were going to be safe.

"_Dépêchez-vous! Aidez-nous!"_

Lucie yelled back.

Arielle was too scared to say anything.

Either that or she was too tired.

But Lucie was brave.

Lucie would always be the brave one.

A dome of copper light encased them.

They were safe.

"_Écoutez-moi!"_

Part of Arielle recognized this voice.

There was something about it...

Something deep inside of her clicked.

A surge of electric panic ran through her.

No.

No, it couldn't be him.

"_Lucie, écoutes-moi."_

She murmured fervently.

"_Qu'est-ce que c'est la problème?"_

Lucie's eyebrows knotted together in concern.

Arielle only stood up, banging with her fists on the copper light.

It didn't budge.

They were safe.

No.

They were trapped.

They were trapped like rabbits in a flooding hole.

They were backed into a corner.

There was no way out.

"_Arielle, chère! Calmes-toi!"_

Lucie's voice was filled with emotions.

Exasperation.

Confusion.

Concern.

Panic.

"_Non, non! Nous devons sortir! Maintenant!"_

Arielle continued to pummel their restraints.

The wizards that had been chasing them slowly formed a second barrier around the light-magic wall.

Tears returned to Arielle's eyes.

"_Calmes-toi! Nous sommes-"_

Lucie broke off mid-sentence.

She saw what Arielle saw.

It clicked.

The wizard formation parted to let a man in a deep crimson cloak come through.

"_Oh, mes petites."_

His silky voice was like nails on a chalkboard to Arielle.

She had once been fascinated by that voice.

Now when she heard it, she wanted to retch.

The copper light disappeared.

The mysterious wizard drew his hood back.

Perfectly slicked-black ice-blonde hair shone in the dim moonlight.

Stony grey eyes flickered between the girls before finally resting on the blonde.

"N_on! Mon dieu, non!"_

Lucie exclaimed.

Arielle seethed.

She inclined her head ever so slightly in acknowledgement.

"_Silas."_

The Darke wizard pointed his gnarled wand at the girl who stepped towards him.

"_Avada Kedavra."_

His voice was

Low,

Calm,

Monotonous.

And Lucie dropped down dead.

Twelfth:

Lucie.

She was brave.

She showed him a brave face.

He showed her death.

"_Non!"_

Arielle cried out, catching the other girl before she hit the ground.

"_S'il vous plaît ne pas être mort."_

Lucie didn't wake up.

"_Réveillez-vous. S'il vous plaît."_

Her emerald eyes stared up at the stars they could not see.

"_Ne pas y aller. Ne me quitte pas!"_

Tears fell solemnly from Arielle's eyes.

She was surprised that she had any left.

"_Oh, ma petite moineau."_

Silas looked at her with an expression of pity on his chiseled face.

She knew it wasn't real.

Arielle placed a kiss onto Lucie's forehead, closing her eyes.

She knew Silas would let her.

He would let her mourn.

He always had.

He always favoured her.

She was the one he wanted all along.

She knew.

Slowly, she stood up.

"_Ceci termine aujourd'hui."_

She said clearly.

Her eyes met his.

She let out a feral growl.

It was happening.

She was going to Change.

For her mother.

For her father.

For her brothers.

For her sisters.

For Celidh.

For the girls.

For Lucie.

Arielle was going to be the brave one.

A final scream.

A burst of golden light.

She remembered no more.

* * *

**TRANSLATIONS:**

"_Revenes-ici, petite garce!_" - "Come back here, you little bitch!"

_'Silas n'aime pas les filles folles.' _- 'Silas doesn't like foolish girls.'

"_Ma cherie,"_ - "My dear,"

"_Ma petite. Ma petite moineau."_ - "My dear. My little sparrow."

"_Je vous hais." _- "I hate you."

"_Tu salaud."_ - "You bastard."

"_Chantes pour moi, ma petite moineau." _- "Sing for me, my little sparrow."

"_Va te faire froutre, connard." _- "Go fuck yourself, you bastard."

"_Rydych chi'n meddwl eich bod mor smart, aderyn y to bach." _- "You think you're so smart, little sparrow."

"_Ydych ch'in gybod beth sy'n digwydd i adar bach oedd yn hoffi chwarae german peryglus?" _- "Do you know what happens to little birds that like to play dangerous games?"

"_Maent yn cael eu bwyta gan behogiaid." _- "They get eaten by hawks."

"_Arielle! Ici! Levez-vous! Dépêchez-vous!" _- "Arielle! Over here! Stand up! Hurry!"

"_Nous ne pouvons pas vous tuer, mais il y a d'autres choses que Silas n'a pas interdit!" _- "We can't kill you, but there are other things that Silas has not forbidden!"

"_Ne me quitte pas!_" _- _"Don't leave me!"

"_Oui!"_ - "Okay!"

"_Les filles! Pouvez-vous m'entendre? Nous sommes ici! Aide est à venir!_"- "Girls! Can you hear me? We are here! Help is on the way!"

"_Dépêchez-vous! Aidez-nous!" _- "Hurry! Help us!"

"_Écoutez-moi!" _ - "Listen to me!"

"_Lucie, écoutez-moi!"_ - "Lucy, listen to me!"

"_Qu'est-ce que c'est la problème?" _- "What's the problem?"

"_Arielle, chère! Calmes-toi!" _- "Arielle, dear! Calm down!"

"_Non, non! Nous devons sortir! Maintenant!" _- "No, no! We have to get out! Now!"  
_"Calmes-toi! Nous sommes-" _- "Calm down! We are-"

"_Oh, mes petites."_ - "Oh, my pets."

"_Non! Mon dieu, non!" _- "No! My god, no!"

"_S'il vous plaît ne pas être mort." _- "Please don't be dead."

"_Réveillez-vous. S'il vous plaît." _- "Wake up. Please."

"_Ne pas y aller. Ne me quitte pas!"_ - "Don't go. Don't leave me!"

"_Oh, ma petite moineau."_ - "Oh, my little sparrow."

"_Ceci termine aujourd'hui." _- "This ends today."


	2. take this bird in

**little bird**

* * *

"_If we take this bird in with its broken leg we could nurse it."_

* * *

Bill Weasley lounged comfortably in his favourite dark blue armchair, a cup of tea in one hand and today's _Daily Prophet_ balanced on his knees. He idly turned the page, frowning as he read an article about Harry Potter. Dearest Rita Skeeter was back with her old bag of tricks and falsities. He almost laughed aloud at the headline (**BOY WHO LIVED STEALS JOBS FROM EXPERIENCED SENIOR AURORS**), and read a few lines in before he decided that it wasn't just bullshit – it was poorly written bullshit. The eldest Weasley son let out a few chuckles, seeing as he knew the entire situation from being friends with Harry.

Harry had rejected Kingsley Shacklebolt's offer to become an Auror immediately after the War, and instead chose to take his NEWTs and complete the standard Auror training with Ron. Harry had confided to Bill, when the latter approached him, that he was tired of special treatment, although he knew a great deal more about fighting Dark Magic than many aspiring Aurors. Harry was supported by everyone that was close to him in this situation, though it took some time to get Kingsley off his back. Once Harry finished Auror training, Kingsley immediately gave him a position, as well as quite a few new Aurors such as Ron, Dean Thomas, Ernie MacMillan, Demelza Robbins, and Alicia Spinnet. This was coincidentally around the time when a bunch of senior Aurors decided to retire. There was no relationship between the two, and everybody in their right mind knew that.

Rita Skeeter was not a woman in her right mind.

Bill looked up as he heard the familiar growing roar of the fireplace lighting up. He set the newspaper down and stood, before he walked over to the fireplace and squatted, bracing himself for the attack he knew was coming. Sure enough, a petite whirl of strawberry-blonde hair and periwinkle dress came flying out of the fireplace and into Bill's awaiting arms. "Papa!" The whirl squealed.

"Hey, princess." He replied, hugging his daughter to him and standing up. Five-year-old Adèle was getting heavier with her age, but Bill's muscular build allowed him to carry his daughter around as if she weighed no more than she had when she was two years old.

He flashed a smile at his sister, who had appeared with his daughter in the fireplace. Once a week Adèle had "Aunty Ginny" time, seeing as the former absolutely idolized the fiery young woman, who was also extremely fond of the cherubic little girl.

"How was she today, Gin?" Bill asked, resting Adèle on his hip. His sister reached out a hand to smooth down her niece's flyaway hairs.

"Angelic, as always." She replied casually. "Del and I had a lovely tea party, didn't we?" The child nodded as she traced the long, jagged scar that ran down her father's handsome face with a gentle finger. "Well, I've got to go; I have to go pick up Teddy from his grandmum's and I don't want to keep Andromeda waiting." Ginny gestured over her shoulder to the fireplace before planting kisses on the cheeks of her niece and brother. She gave Adèle a final hug at the request of the young girl before stepping into the fireplace and vanishing.

As soon as Ginny left, Adèle decided that she no longer wanted to be held and wriggled out of her father's arms, all the while chanting "Papa, Mama, Papa, Mama". She began to run off to find her mother, but Bill grabbed her around the waist and threw her over his shoulder.

"I don't think so, princess," He said with a grin before plopping her down on the armchair he had vacated. He knelt in front of the chair and put his large, strong hands on her shoulders. Adèle stared back at him in all seriousness, parroting the expression on his face. Royal blue eyes met almost identical ones, neither one swaying from the informal staring contest. "Mummy's putting baby Adrien to sleep right now, so we have to be very quiet, okay?" Bill murmured. Adèle nodded with a look of deep understanding. "Why don't you go put your jammies on, and find a storybook to read before bed, yeah?"

The small girl's cerulean eyes narrowed with acceptance of the challenge and raced off towards her room as silently as she could to put her pyjamas on and select a bedtime story. Bill couldn't help but chuckle as his daughter's retreating form.

He picked up the tea cup and gulped down the last little bit before folding up the newspaper and putting it back on the kitchen table. He set his cup down, taking a minute to magic it clean and replacing it in the cupboard. Fleur was fond of cleanliness and precision, and Bill, after growing up in the cluttered Weasley house, was quite happy to live in a fairly mess-free environment. Adèle had caught onto this, and even enjoyed assisting her parents to clean up. Her toys were rarely out of place when she wasn't using them, and everything in her room had a specific spot.

Bill abandoned the pristine white kitchen, climbing Shell Cottage's main staircase up to the second floor. He continued down one of the hallways until he reached the nursery. Fleur was rocking Adrien in her arms, softly singing lullabies to him that were most likely in French. Bill sighed. The tall, ginger-haired man looked fondly at his wife from his new position leaning against the nursery door frame, his arms crossed casually and one foot tucked behind the other. The adoration he had for the lovely woman twisted the corners of his mouth into a small smile that reached his deep cobalt eyes and lit them up like fireworks. Anyone who knew Bill knew that this was a familiar smile that appeared only when he was in the company of his beloved wife and children; it was slight and serene, with a simplicity that was easy to mistake for extreme complexity.

He loved them more than anybody realized. He would kill for his family, he would die for his family. As long as they were safe, Bill was content. It didn't matter what the cost was, even if it was his own life, as long as they were okay. It wasn't that he would gladly give away his life, for that would cause pain to them, but if he absolutely had to sacrifice his life and there was no other option, he would do it in a heartbeat.

"Bill, _cher, _look at 'im." Fleur turned her head to shine a radiant grin upon him. Their little son now lay in the brilliantly white crib, sleeping peacefully. Fleur and Bill had gotten lucky in the children department. Adèle had not been a fussy baby, and neither was her brother. They were both little angels; there was simply no other way to describe them.

"He's beautiful." Bill murmured, moving to join his dearly beloved next to the crib. The three-month-old had soft wisps of blonde hair, almost translucent silver-blue eyes, and the rosiest, roundest cheeks Bill had ever seen. Adrien's chubby arms were wrapped around the soft plush dragon that his Uncle Charlie had bought him. Uncle Charlie had also placed an enchantment upon the dragon, turning it into a sort of baby-friendly puppy that grew up alongside him. The dragon's fabric chest was rising and falling in time with Adrien's, and Bill's grin widened at the sight of his sleeping son.

He wrapped a well-muscled arm around Fleur's waist before planting a gentle kiss on top of her head. She turned to face him, smiling up into his dark eyes and sliding her arms around his neck. Bill smiled down at the young woman, stroking her side with one hand. He and Fleur had adopted a less lusty relationship soon after they had started dating, and they were both quite comfortable with it. This wasn't to say that they were without a sexual fire, because that would be absolutely untrue; it was merely that they were content to be in the other's presence while completely clothed, and they could last through a dinner party without excusing themselves midway to have quick passionate sex in an empty room.

Fleur moved her hands to smooth Bill's hair back, gently pushing it off of his face. She cupped his chin and rose up on her tiptoes; he leaned down to press his lips softly and chastely to hers. When they broke apart, she dropped her arms to hug his waist, and Bill snuggled her into his arms as she let out a sigh of contentment.

"At times, eet eez _dificile_ not being wiz my _famille _een France, and I get 'omeseeck for my country, but being wiz you and our _petites anges_ makes eet all worzwhile. England eez my 'ome." The young woman whispered into the crook of his neck. Bill smiled against the top of Fleur's head, gently massaging her shoulders with his sturdy hands. She hummed against his touch, and touched her lips to his collarbone in a light kiss. It was his turn to let out a sigh.

"Papa? Mama?" A small voice from the doorway startled the couple. Adèle was standing in the doorway in bright green footed-pyjamas, blinking sleepily and holding a well-loved copy of _Babbity-Rabbity And The Cackling Stump_. "Read?" She asked, obviously too tired to form a complete sentence; the young girl seemed too tired to even keep her head up.

"Sure, princess." Bill beamed down at her before letting go of Fleur. He proceeded to scoop his daughter up in his arms and race her to her room before gently plunking her down on her bed. Fleur followed seconds later, gently taking the book from Adèle and sitting down next to her.

"I will read to 'er tonight; you did eet last night." She murmured. Bill shrugged, kissing them both on the tops of their heads and exiting the room. He stood outside his daughter's bedroom for a minute, leaning back against the wall and listening to the sound of Fleur's beautiful, melodic voice caress the harsh poetry of the Bard.

He meandered off to his and Fleur's bedroom, where he proceeded to strip off his work clothes (a black button-up dress shirt and pleated pants of the same shade) before slipping into a worn pair of dark green pyjama pants and black shirt with the Hogwarts crest emblazoned on it. He pulled his semi-tame red hair back in a short ponytail and slipped into bed. It was only nine o'clock, but he had adjusted to his children's sleeping patterns, which meant that he went to bed early and woke up early.

Fleur soon joined him, changing into nightclothes before curling up beside him and nuzzling her head into the crook of his shoulder. "_Je t'aime_." She whispered gently before extinguishing the light. She kissed him tenderly, and he moved a hand around to the back of her head to keep their lips connected. Their kiss was sweet and fiery, the type of fire that burned slowly for ages before dying, rather than a complete blaze. Bill wrapped his free arm around his wife, pressing her slight form to his.

She was the one to break the kiss, and he glared at her in the dark. His wolfish senses kicked in to see her smile – even in the dim light given only by the waning moon. "I love you too." He murmured in his low, husky voice. He felt heavy with sleep and a dash of lust. Fleur let a small smirk slip and kissed his stubbly chin before rolling over on her side to sleep. Bill kept his arms around her, hugging her frame to his own. He felt sleep take him in its arms as well, and he welcomed it.

* * *

Somewhere, deep in dreamland, Bill's acute, wolf-like hearing picked up on the roar of the fireplace. Somebody was here. He gently eased his left arm out from under a sound-asleep Fleur, and silently left her in bed. He grabbed his wand, and stealthily, soundlessly, slipped down the stairs, casting a Protective Charm in the direction of all three bedrooms. He didn't bother to murmur the charm to illuminate his wand tip; his werewolf senses would keep him safe.

He turned the corner into the living room with the attitude and discipline of an Order of the Phoenix member, his wand pointed straight ahead of him. The fireplace was roaring a brilliant green, and a figure stepped out. Bill adopted a duelling stance, a defensive spell on the tip of his tongue.

"Merlin!" A familiar face eyed the offending wand tip warily. The redhead relaxed considerably, sticking his wand in the waistband of his pants.

"Sorry, mate. Wasn't expecting anybody. Can't be too careful, right?" Bill said quietly, gesturing to the upstairs and putting a finger to his lips. Wesley got the message that Bill's family was asleep, and nodded.

Wesley Everhart was a friend from Bill's Hogwarts days who worked at the Ministry in the Department of Mysteries. He was a scruffy man, with a shaggy man of dark-walnut hair and hazel-green eyes that possessed a distinct mischievous glint. He and Bill had had crazy times as Hogwarts students, but both of them had settled down and kept their reckless days in the past.

"The war's over, mate." The Liverpudlian grinned cheekily. Bill rolled his eyes, throwing a friendly punch that connected with Wesley's toned left bicep.

"I know." He shrugged. "Still. It's two o'clock in the bloody nighttime. What the hell are you doing?" Wes sighed.

"I'm going to have to speak to you about Unspeakable stuff, alright? Fleur too, maybe." He murmured, inviting himself to sit down in one of the mismatched armchairs. Bill took a seat in the chair opposite that one and magicked a dim light, his cobalt eyes focused intently on his close friend.

"Wow," He breathed, letting out a surprised whistle. Wes nodded.

"Yeah. There's some pretty crazy stuff going on, and we're not totally sure what's happening. It's pretty bloodied up, mate." He looked at the floor for a few moments. Bill waited patiently; he knew that this was tough for Wes – he had to figure how much he could tell without telling too much. Bill knew the nuances of his friend from being close with the dark-haired boy since first year, and he knew the glitches and tricks of the job from being well acquainted with the Ministry, as well as Wes. He just had to give the other man a few minutes to figure himself out. "It's... I dunno." Wes finally said. "It's just abso-bloody-lutely crazy, mate." He scratched the back of his neck – a trait that Ron shared – and Bill deduced that he was obviously uncomfortable. Knowing that sitting there wouldn't help him, the ginger-haired man smoothly changed the subject.

"How's Julia?" He asked. His companion immediately started grinning broadly, like somebody had flicked on a switch, and blew some hair out of his eyes, still beaming madly.

"She's good." Bill raised an eyebrow, staring at his friend with his most intimidating glare. That wasn't all to the story. Wes still had that idiotic smile plastered all over his face as he spoke. "Bill, I'm gonna be a father." He said, probably a little louder than he should have. Bill, now smiling as well, shushed his friend before they both stood up and shared a friendly hug, Bill clapping Wes on the back.

"That's bloody brilliant, Wes!" He exclaimed quietly.

"Yeah. Me, a dad... isn't that your thing, though? Being a family man and a bloody straight edged prat with a day job and clean trousers." They both sniggered softly at Wesley's joke and reference to the days when they lived together and never did laundry.

"I've still got the hair, though. Drives Mum crazy." Bill grinned triumphantly, pointing to his ponytail. He had cut it, but it was still longer than his mum liked. He changed the subject again. "So, what are you going to be? Dad? Papa? Father?" He smirked at the thought of a mini Wes-Jules addressing the shaggy man as 'Father'.

"I like 'dad', but I don't know, mate." Wes shrugged. "Who woulda thought that anybody'd be calling me anything like that, right?"

"Not Julia, I'm sure." Bill teased lightheartedly. "Why she even married a bloody git like you, I'll never know."

"Bugger off, Bill." Wes chuckled, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking at a spot past Bill. He smiled and nodded his head in acknowledgement. The redhead turned around to see Fleur standing in the archway wrapped in a light pink dressing gown, her wand tucked under her folded arms.

"Wesley, 'ow are you?" She asked politely, masking her confusion as to why her husband and friend were conversing casually in her living room in the almost-dark at two o'clock in the morning.

"Fine, thanks." Wes offered a smile. Fleur nodded and immediately turned her attention to her husband.

"Bill? What eez happening? Should I be worried?" She murmured, moving gracefully over to them and taking a seat on the arm of his chair, resting a hand on his shoulder lovingly. He draped an arm around her waist.

"Wes and Jules are going to be parents, love." He gestured with his other hand to the still-grinning Wesley. Fleur's jaw dropped and a hand immediately flew to it in a ladylike fashion.

"Zat eez _magnifique_!" She gushed. "'Ow far along eez she?"

"About two months now, I think she said." Fleur smiled radiantly.

"'Ow wonderful!" Wes nodded. Bill's face turned serious.

"That's not why you came here, is it, Wes?" He asked knowingly. His friend nodded again, clasping his hands together.

"There's a bit of funny business up in France." He began. Fleur's eyebrows furrowed in a frown at the mention of her beloved home country. "You've heard of the '_Cyngor y Madfall-Tân_', in Scotland, yeah?" Bill nodded. Fleur shook her head. "'_Cyngor y Madfall-Tân_' translates into 'Council of the Fire-Lizard'. It's Welsh, I think. They're kind of like the Order, I reckon." Wes shrugged. "Anyway, there's this group, see, that the Council has been watching for quite a few years now, _Les Cr__é__ateurs._" Fleur gasped. "You're familiar?" He asked, obviously intrigued. She nodded. "I'd hoped as much." He confessed.

"At Beauxbatons, zere was much talk of zem; Madame Maxime always told us to be wary of zem. She did not go eento much detail, _alors_ I do not know very much." Fleur shrugged. "Zere were a few girls zat Madame always kept very close, I zink zat zere were... _treize_, maybe? One of zem was my age... _je suis d__é__sol__é__e, _I cannot remember 'er name." She spoke in broken English, which she was more comfortable in: especially under stress. She was better with English than Bill was with French, so he was grateful that she had not slipped completely back into her native tongue. "Anyway, zis group, _Les Cr__é__ateurs – _eet was easy to tell 'oo was a member and 'oo was not – zey were always 'anging around, trying to talk to zese girls. Zey said zat zey were destined for greatness, or _quelque chose comme __ç__a._" Her eyes darkened with loathing as she stared at the floor, recalling her story. "Zee worst one of zem all was zis one man..." She glared at the floor. "Ah, _Dieu_, I cannot remember 'is name." She sighed. "'E 'ad zis 'orrible blonde 'air; eet looked like 'e was trying to be your... Billy Idol, _oui_?" Wes grinned; being from a Muggle family he had grown up listening to groups and artists such as _The Rolling Stones_, _The Beatles_, and the musician that Fleur had mentioned. His face darkened as a frown disgraced his face, and he pulled a photograph out of the inside breast pocket of his robes.

"Is this the man?" He asked. Fleur plucked the picture from between his fingers, and glared at it before handing it back.

"Eet 'as been many years since I last saw 'im, _mais oui_, zat ees 'im." Her nose crinkled up in disgust. Wes nodded and re-pocketed the photograph.

"Could somebody please tell me what the bloody hell is going on?" Bill asked. The Ministry worker sighed.

"You see, mate. This group – The Creators, if you will – took thirteen girls last year from all around France. For some reason that I am not exactly allowed to know, the Council had these thirteen girls under lock and key. When The Creators took them, they completely disappeared off the map. The spells and enchantments on their families had no ability to track them. They just up and-" He whistled. "Gone." Fleur let out a small gasp. "Anyway, the girls have been gone for about a year; the most recent one disappeared on last Hallow's Eve. And yesterday, the same girl turns up – all starved and filthy and bloodied-up, mind you – at some wizarding shop in some little village in France. She's talking about five others and her escaped from – ah, Merlin, what was his name? Uh, Silas! Yeah, that was it – this Silas bloke, who we can only assume is the man in my photograph," here he pointed a finger to his left breast pocket where the picture was kept. "So, this git is the head of The Creators." Bill's eyes had narrowed in focus on the story.

"So where do Fleur and I come in?" He asked. Wes let out another low whistle.

"Well, you're a Safe House." He stated. Both Bill and Fleur nodded, remembering all the paperwork they had filled out to become one of the Ministry's Safe Houses. After the war, they decided that they would continue on with giving refuge to those in need, but in a more official manner. "Also, Fleur's from France herself, and the girl doesn't understand much English, so we – a couple of the Aurors and the Unspeakables that know about the case – thought that it might be better if she were with somebody that she could understand, right?" Bill was about to ask another question, but Fleur cut him off.

"We must 'elp 'er! Zere eez no question about eet." The woman of the house stated clearly. Bill nodded.

"Sure, mate." He gave his consent as well. Wes flashed a grin before putting his work face on again.

"There's a file I can give you; it has all the information about her that you absolutely need to know." His eyes darkened briefly as he withdrew a small, thin oak box from his pocket. He magically Enlarged it, so it was about the size of a thick stack of paper. "But be careful, both of you. I don't know exactly what's up with her, but she's not exactly... human." Bill smiled as he took the file.

"That's okay. Neither am I."


	3. my mouth

**little bird**

* * *

"_Take words out of my mouth just from breathing."_

* * *

The light blinded Charlie as he dared open his sky-blue eyes. They had not yet adjusted to the bright morning – was it still morning, anyway? – light, and he wearily shut them again. He had slept in for the first time in approximately six months, which was coincidentally the last time he had been here.

It was good to be back in his old bed.

He nestled back into his pillow, closing his eyes and waiting for his dreams to claim him once again.

Or not.

The familiar smell of Mrs Weasley's famous breakfasts seeped into the room, soaking Charlie with the aroma of sausages, bacon, eggs, and buttered toast.

Alright, there was reason to get up now.

He lazily stood up, running his hands through his thick, Weasley-red hair. It was getting a big shaggy, but nowhere near as long as his older brother's. It almost completely covered his ears – for this Charlie was thankful; a chunk of his ear had been aggressively removed during work a couple months ago, and the last thing he needed was his mum fretting about it – and dropped down to his chin. Charlie was quite proud of the ginger sideburns that he had cultivated, and there was a great deal of stubble on his face that turned into a rather pleasant circle beard.

Charlie had grown into an incredibly handsome young man, though he wasn't quick to admit it.

His eyes were still the same vibrant ocean blue that they had been all his life, but time had added a certain wisdom and soulfulness to them. As a wizard that had been born in one war and fought in the next, he certainly had his seen his fair share of sights that he wished he could un-see. However, even though these events had aged his cerulean eyes, they were still bright and effervescent, and made him that much more easy to look at.

It was obvious to anybody that he had grown up playing the Quidditch position of a Beater. His arms were rippling with well-developed and maintained muscles, and were extraordinarily freckled from being out in the sun for far too long.

He caught a glance of himself in the mirror as he was about to head out the door, and stopped. How could he have forgotten to put on proper clothes? The Charlie in the mirror was wearing nothing but his underwear, and the Charlie standing in front of the mirror was wearing the exact same thing.

He turned around, looking around for his wand. He found it on the floor next to the bedside table, under his shirt from the day before. He Accio'd his bag, and magicked it open because he simply couldn't be bothered to do it manually. He pulled out a pair of the darkest blue-green dragon-skin pants and a loose, white button-up shirt, slipping both of them on and making his way downstairs. He thought himself to look a bit medieval, which was always fun.

"Charlie, my boy!" Mr Weasley was sitting at the kitchen table, poking at a shiny Muggle gadget with his wand. He waved with his wand, looking up from his 'work' to smile at his son. "When did you get here?" He frowned from behind his spectacles.

"I don't even know, Dad." Charlie shrugged. "It was either really bloody late or really bloody early." He took a seat at the table across from his father. "Nice specs, are they new?" He gestured to the golden-rimmed glasses perched on the edge his father's face. Arthur grinned sheepishly.

"No, your Mum got them for me last Christmas, and I hid them because I didn't bloody need them." He sighed. "She found them last week." Charlie let out a booming laugh, at the thought of his mother chasing his father around the Burrow with the flimsy pair of spectacles. He finally shook himself of the fantastic mental image, and Accio'd a plate from the drying rack before serving himself some breakfast. As he took his seat once again, Arthur was still examining the artifact.

"So, whatcha got there, Dad?" The dragon-lover asked. The eldest Weasley shrugged.

"Haven't the foggiest." Arthur chuckled.

"Charlie? Arthur, did I hear you say that Charlie was here?" Molly's voice called from upstairs.

"Charlie's here, Molly!" Arthur yelled a reply, winking at his son. Charlie groaned and set his plate down. There was nothing quite like being attacked by Molly Weasley. Seconds later, Mrs Weasley came flying down the stairs in a blur of red and fussing mother hen before pulling her second son into a tight, bone-crushing hug. Thankfully, Charlie was a sturdy, tough guy, and his ribcage remained in one piece.

"Hi, Mum." He choked out, managing to hug her back. She finally let out a small hum of contentment.

"You'll be wanting some breakfast, of course, Charlie. I insist you eat something. They don't feed you enough over there in Romania!" She fussed over him. Giving a sheepish smile, he held up his plate of food. Molly gave a satisfied smile. "Good, you've helped yourself then, I see." He nodded. "Well, eat up dear." She patted his cheek and gently turned him around towards the table. "Arthur, dear, put that useless thing away. It's doing you no good sitting there, poking and prodding at it for hours – and on your day off, too!" Charlie sat down and once again tuned out the familiar ruckus of the Weasley house. He grinned at his father, who sighed and sent the gadget flying across the room to settle on a shelf. Arthur finally made a move on his abandoned breakfast plate, frowning as he noticed that it had cooled down considerably.

"So, Charlie," He spoke through a bite of toast; this was not uncommon in the Weasley household.

"Arthur," Molly warned. Although incredibly ordinary, this practice of the Weasley men was frowned upon – figuratively and literally – by the mother hen. The balding man cast a wary glance towards his wife, chewing and swallowing before restarting.

"So, Charlie. Are you staying here long?" Arthur asked. Charlie shook his head.

"Nah; I was actually supposed to pop in at Bill's for about a week, but it was late when I finally got here and I didn't want to wake them. Thought I'd head off in a few and spend some quality time with the wedded wonders and their children – haven't seen little Adrien since he was only a few days old. I reckon him and Delly don't have enough Uncle Charlie in their life." He shrugged and grinned the mischievous grin that he had started but the twins had picked up on. Ah, shit. The twins. Or, twin, since the war. He frowned as his mother left the room. "She's doing well, I see?" Mrs Weasley had mourned the lost of her beloved Freddie for years; Charlie figured that part of her was still in the grieving stage. Not that that wasn't understandable; Charlie had been absolutely grief-stricken when Fred had died. George was still pining for his twin and his missing ear, but everyone – save for Molly - had somehow managed to put on a brave face and move on with their lives. Fred would have wanted it that way.

Arthur gave a slight nod. "She's better, I suppose." He looked in the direction Molly had disappeared off to and sighed. "She found one of their first joke products the other day. Made a right bloody fuss about it, then she up and threw it away." He looked down thoughtfully at his scrambled eggs. "She snuck it out of the garbage later – I saw – and pocketed it, crying." He let out another sad sigh. "I wish there was something I could do, Charlie. We all do." The son nodded in agreement.

"The only thing that would bring her back to normal would be if Fred hadn't died." He stated matter-of-factly before stabbing a piece of sausage and devouring it.

A comfortable silence greeted both of them, proceeding to serve itself a plate of breakfast and sit down at the table. When said comfortable silence, along with Mr Weasley and Charlie, had finished its meal, it politely excused itself before placing its dishes in the sink and leaving via the front door.

Arthur smiled.

"So, how long are you staying for?" He enquired. Charlie shrugged.

"Who knows," He replied. "Maybe Mum will finally have some luck in forcing me to fall in love with, what's her name... that one girl from Ravenclaw a couple years younger than me?" His father scrunched his eyes shut, trying to remember.

He snapped his aged fingers after a few moments. "Holly!" Charlie nodded.

"Yeah, Holly – and I'll get married on Tuesday and stay here for the rest of my life, letting Mum cook for me every day and never go back to that horrid Romania ever again." Arthur chuckled.

"Don't forget about all the children you're going to have, Charles," Another familiar voice sounded from behind Charlie. Said wizard flashed a broad, Charlie smile in the direction of his brother.

"Oh, sod off, you prat!" Charlie called back. The taller, younger man slouched over to them, sticking out his tongue in a most immature – yet not entirely uncharacteristic - fashion. "How's the joke shop, Georgie-boy?" He asked. The brother with one less ear and hair the same trademark shade of Weasley red shrugged, sitting down at the table next to his brother and across from his father.

"Bloody near booming, Charles!" George replied heartily. "How's life on the wild side?" He asked, swiping the warmest piece of toast from the toast plate and stuffing it carelessly into his mouth.

"Still too crazy for Mum," He gave a thoughtful shrug as he considered the dangers of working in the Dragonology field. George let out a snigger.

"The fact the none of her children live here anymore is too crazy for Mum." He lowered his voice, realizing that the woman they were speaking about could walk in on them any moment. "That's why she got Tar." He gestured to the black and white Crup that was curled up on the sofa. Mrs Weasley absolutely doted on the little wizard dog, Tarquin.

The Crup was around four years old; he had been a stray that had turned up at Harry and Ginny's door at the approximate age of one year. He was wire-haired and mainly white, with two black patches that covered his ears and eyes before meeting in a stripe that ran down his muzzle, ending at his little black nose. His velvety, expressive ears perked up at the mention of his nickname, and he propelled himself off the chesterfield, the momentum forcing him to skitter across the hardwood floor before knocking into Charlie's legs. The brawny Weasley boy scooped up the little Crup, scratching him behind the ears. Arthur flashed a sly look at the doorway in which he had last seen his wife, then the staircase, before handing the dog a rasher of bacon that he had been too full to eat.

It was a sight to see; three tough, warrior, Weasley men were fascinated by the antics and overall cuteness of the creature. Tar wagged his docked tail happily, putting a paw up on the table as if asking for more. Arthur grinned, reaching over to pat the Crup on the head.

"Later, Tar." He assured him gently. Tar let out a small, doggy sigh and curled up on Charlie's lap, leaning into the man's scratching of his silky black ears.

"Well, I best be getting on with enjoying my day off." Charlie muttered somewhat gloomily; the brothers shared a knowing look. In the Weasley house, a 'day off' meant that they would be put to work by Mrs Weasley in doing some sort of 'relaxing' task such as de-gnoming the yard. Again. He leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms behind his head and flexing his Quidditch muscles just to show George that his own Quidditch years had benefited him more than the latter's. The younger man caught the message and jabbed Charlie's nearest tricep with his wand.

"Bloody-"

"Ta!" George dodged his brother's oncoming play-attack and, with a signature Weasley twin smirk, Apparated away. Charlie let out a frustrated sigh, watching his father's chuckling episode with his peripheral vision. Tar's ears pricked up and he raced off, probably having heard Mrs Weasley call for him.

"Yeah, it's _real_ funny." The son rolled his eyes before magicking both of their plates clean. Arthur grinned broadly, going to great lengths to stifle his amusement. After a few moments Charlie gave in to his own humour and allowed himself a few snickers. "Alright, alright." He sighed, pushing his chair out and standing up. "I better go, Dad; Bill will be probably be wondering where I am." He moved over to his father so the aged man didn't have to stand up, sharing a loving hug. "Love ya," He smiled. Arthur looked up at him.

"We know, Charlie." He offered the kind of genuine, fatherly smile that only Arthur Weasley could. "We love you too."

"I'll be back in a couple days to fix the roof, I promise." The only way to get up to the roof of the Burrow was by broomstick (Apparating could be sketchy when it came to landing properly) and Charlie was one of the only ones apt to do it. "Give my love to Mum, yeah?" He echoed his father's smile, and Accio'ed his stuff from upstairs. As it zoomed into the room he strode over to the door and coaxed his size-thirteens into the soft black leather boots. He clicked his heels together sharply and gave his father a militaristic salute, then dropped his posture and waved broadly. He swung the worn, grey, Erumpent-hide backpack over his shoulder, and stepped out of the door. Out of habit, he walked to the end of the old charm lines; the protections on the Burrow weren't in place after the war, but there were remnants that could toy with magic and occasionally produced negative consequences. He took on last look at the rickety old residence before blowing a kiss to Molly (who was watching from the attic window) and Apparating away.

* * *

Charlie finally landed at his elder brother's house. The cheery little cottage with its golden cobblestone exterior and steep-slanted roof stood out against the blue-grey sky with its mountainous clouds. The wind ruffled his hair, and he closed his bright blue eyes against the touch of the cold breeze. The combined aromas of the salty waters, sweet flowers, and rich, warm, freshly-baked bread filled his nostrils, and he drank up their smells like a man dying of thirst.

He hiked his backpack onto his other shoulder – so that the weight was evenly distributed between both of them – and began taking long strides up the sand dunes, the tall, swaying grasses brushing against him. He knocked loudly on the wooden door before gently pushing it open and stepping inside. "Bill? Fleur? Bill!" He called, letting his pack fall from his shoulders onto the floor with a thud. He had cast an Undetectable Extension Charm on it, and had crammed as much in it as possible; the sound it made when it hit the ground was heavy and burdensome.

A Patronus in the form of a badger lay curled up underneath an hallway bench next to a jumble of pairs of shoes. Its silvery-white eyes opened and looked up cheerfully at Charlie, and it opened its mouth in what could only be a smile. In Bill's familiar low voice it spoke. "Hey, Charlie. I'm just in the shower, I'll be down in a minute. Don't burn the house down in the meantime." The redheaded guest nodded at the Patronus, patting it gently on its cool, not-really-there head. He watched as it dissolved into wisps of pearly essence.

He slipped his boots off, and made his way deeper into the cottage. The smells of hot bread, cinnamon, and the flowery smell of Fleur's Parisian perfume brought a smile to his dry lips, and he took a moment to relax himself and bask in the comforting atmosphere of his brother and sister-in-law's house.

He walked into the living room and promptly froze with astonishment, his turquoise eyes wide. There was somebody there, somebody that he didn't recognize. It was the figure of a woman standing at the window, staring off at the watery horizon. Charlie took another moment to appreciate what he could see of this woman. She was dressed plainly in a swishy, pink and blue floral skirt that fell just past her knees, a white button-up t-shirt, and an overlarge light blue cardigan (the sleeves pushed up to her elbows) that Charlie had seen Fleur wear several times. Her long golden hair was loose down her back in soft tousles, looking freshly-washed and presumably soft to the touch. Her skin was tanned, her legs and arms lean, and she was barefoot.

Charlie didn't know what to do.

He cleared his throat.

Within nanoseconds, the girl that he assumed to be beautiful had whirled around, with Fleur's wand grasped tightly in her hand and shakily pointed at him. The redhead raised his hands in surrender.

"Hey, hey, it's okay." He responded in a soothing voice. She was studying him with a calculating expression on her face, as if trying to figure out whether he was friend or foe. Charlie studied her back, although not for the same reason. He had assumed that she was pretty, and he was the farthest from wrong. This girl was not merely pretty; she was beautiful. She was absolutely fucking gorgeous! She had a soft, ovate face and full, rosy lips. Her eyes were a challenging grey that pierced right through him like an arrow, and he ever-so-slightly leaned against the door frame for support from the sheer intensity of her gaze.

She slowly lowered Fleur's wand, her eyes less hurtful and more hurt. Seeing this change in her triggered the family man in Charlie, and he lowered his arms before stepping forward towards this lovely creature.

That was a mistake.

Before he could register anything the nameless girl had sprung from her spot by the window, crashed into him, and disappeared up the stairs.

The extremely dazed Charlie took a seat, blinking madly as if that would force everything that had just occurred to make sense. "What the fuck?" He wondered aloud. What in Merlin's name had just happened?

"I see you 'ave met Arielle."


	4. burns don't heal

**little bird**

* * *

_"__Flames just create us but burns don't heal like before."_

* * *

Arielle silently raced up the stairs of Shell Cottage's beachy interior, taking them two at a time, sometimes three. She crashed into a half-dressed Bill on her mad dash to her to the guest room, her room, her safe place. "Ari!" The eldest Weasley called. She looked into his eyes, still frighted from the situation downstairs with the strange redheaded man, and pushed past him. He murmured something in English that her French-tuned ears didn't quite understand —sounding an awful lot like a string of swears— and began to quickly make his way down the stairs towards the room with the strange man. Bill would take care of

them; Fleur had explained to her that her husband was a good man and that he would keep them safe. He would keep Silas and his army of bastards away from Arielle. He would never let them harm her. Not again. Not ever again. Bill was her brother. Fleur was her sister, not literally of course, but she had been close in age at Beauxbatons and they had formed a warm friendship. Bill, since he was married to Fleur, he was Arielle's brother. Bill and Fleur and their _petites_were her new family. They would keep her safe.

She frantically twisted the doorknob and shoved the door open, slipping inside the guest bedroom and collapsing onto the floor. She was shaking; she was trembling all over and she couldn't stop. She was so, so scared. She was remembering things that she didn't want to remember – things they did to her that should have never been done and things she did that she should never have had to do.

_They're calling her name._

_They're saying it over and over but she's not listening._

_She shuts her eyes._

_Tighter._

_Tighter._

_Tighter._

_She is trying to drown herself in the white noise that is_

_Them calling her name._

_Maybe if she waits there long enough,_

_They'll forget about her._

_They'll forget about her and they'll go away._

_They won' t make her do anything else._

_Silas won't care about her anymore._

_She'll be gone._

_Free._

Tears streamed down Arielle's face and she shook with violent sobs as she lay there on the floor, slender hands clutching desperately at her long, dark blonde hair and cheeks stained rosy with tear tracks. She felt like she was burning, like she was crumpled paper and somebody had touched a match to her; she was going up in flame and was quickly scorching to death.

"_Myrddin Emrys,_" She breathed, praying to the spirit of the Welsh enchanter. "_Sauve-moi de mes cauchemars._" Her voice was shaky as she expired out the plea on her breath. _Myrddin_ would save her. He had always saved her. But, where was _Myrddin_ when she was with Silas? Where was he when she desperately needed him more than ever? He wasn't her God, she knew that, she didn't believe in them, but she had been raised a _Tywysoges y Niwloedd_, and that was not about to change. The _niwloedd_ of Avalon were constantly spiralling through her, mixed with her blood. The enchantments were passed through her mother's side, and she was blessed with the gifts of Morgana.

She was a Child of Morgana, a _Tywysoges y Niwloedd_, a Servant of Avalon, a _Merch y M__ôr_. She was extraordinary. And that was exactly why Silas needed her. He needed her to fulfill his plans as _Brenin Tragwyddoldeb._ She and the _niwloedd_ were the only things that were standing in his way.

_A hand clamps over her mouth._

_A black Selkie-hide gloved hand._

_She shudders._

_The smooth, hide-like fur touches her lips._

_She is disgusted._

_She wants to throw up._

_How dare they?_

_How dare they do this to her?_

_An arm wraps around her body._

_Tightly._

_Squeezing the air from her lungs._

_Hurts._

_Cannot breathe._

_She is sure that this time, she is_

_Dying._

_The arm drags her out of her cell,_

_Up the stairs,_

_Up many, many stairs._

_Maybe he'll drop her_

_And she'll fall down the spiral staircase_

_To her death._

_Then it will all be over._

_There will be no more of this._

_She will be nothing._

_Nothing to them anymore._

"Laissez-la aller, _Michel_._"_

_Silas' silky voice caresses his command,_

_Stinging her ears,_

_Poisoning her brain._

_She is hurting._

_She doesn't want to listen to him anymore._

_Her confinements –Michel– disappear. _

_He throws her to the floor._

_He steps back towards Silas._

_Kneels._

_Bows._

_Silas kills him with a simple murmur of words._

_The room is eerily silent._

_Michel's body thuds to the floor._

_Arielle almost isn't fazed by it._

_Silas always kills them._

_He kills them after they go get the girls._

_So they cannot betray him._

_They cannot help the girls in the dungeons._

_They always die._

Arielle whimpered as another shudder overtook her body, twisted her organs and forcing them to play a warped and horrid melody as they writhed underneath the stranglehold of the monster that still had a piece of him inside her. "_Myrddin._" She pleaded again.

_Silas clucks his tongue._

"Pauvre _Michel_."

_He murmurs._

_She clenches her teeth,_

_And realizes that they are alone._

_There is nobody to save her._

_There is nobody to tell Silas to ease up on her._

_There is nobody to save her body from the pain that is going to come._

_She listens for the sweep of his robes along the marble floor._

_She has to strain to hear them,_

_But there they are._

_He is moving towards her._

"Levez-vous, madamoiselle."

_His voice is smooth._

_Flawless._

_Docile._

_Snakelike._

_She obliges, eyes still trained to the floor._

_She hopes he cannot see her shake._

_She is standing._

_She is shaking._

_She is scared._

"Chante pour moi, ma petite moineau."

_He touches her chin with the tip of his wand._

_Raises it up._

_Looks daringly into her eyes._

_She shakes her head._

"Non."

_She defies him._

_His mouth twists up in a sly smirk._

"Chantes."

_He orders._

_His mouth is still grinning,_

_But his eyes are fierce._

_The first time this had happened,_

_Arielle had started to cry._

_But not this time._

_Her face is stone._

_She sings the song her mother taught her._

'S'Fagaim Mo Bhaile.'

_'And I Leave My Home.'_

"Maidin is us an lae,

Is fagaim mo bhaile,

Ta mo chroise go bron,

Is fad ar shiul m'oige."

_Morning and the day's beginning,_

_And I leave my home,_

_My heart is breaking,_

_My youth is long past._

"Oiche is me liom fein,

Speartha dubh g odomhain, a choich,

Ag cuimhneamh ar laethanta a bhi,

Gan gha agus gan ghruaim,

Eistim leis an ghaoth,

Uaigneas mor, go deo, a choich."

_Night and I am alone,_

_Endless deep black skies,_

_Remembering days that were,_

_Without want and without gloom,_

_I listen to the wind,_

_Endless great loneliness forever._

"Deireadh a turas mor,

Taim bronach, buartha 's briste,

I mo dhaidh nach mbeida nios mo,

Ach, ta se i ndan duinn, a phaisti."

_The end of the long journey,_

_I am sad, sorrowful, broken,_

_After me there will be no more (of my kind),_

_But children, it is our destiny._

"Is fada anois an la,

A d'fhag me mo bhaile,

Nil athas i mo chroi,

Nil ann ach an marbh."

_The day is long past,_

_When I left my home,_

_There is no hope left in my heart,_

_There is only death._

_She feels tears._

_Fights them back._

_No more tears._

_No more weakness._

"Belle, ma petite."

_Silas speaks after a few moments of silence._

_He steps closer_

_Touches his lips to her forehead._

_Backs away._

_He turns around._

_His robes swish as they touch the floor._

_She can hear the fabric cut through the air._

_He walks away._

_Stops._

"Newid i mi, ft aderyn y to bach."

_He says clearly._

_She stands,_

_Pretending she doesn't hear him._

_Silence._

_More silence._

"Newid_." _

_He repeats firmly._

_She whimpers no._

_No please._

_Please don't make her do this again._

_She can't._

_She doesn't know how._

"Newid."

_His voice is an ice-knife._

_She replies again, more fervently:_

"Non, non, non,_"_

_Tears prickle again with the knowledge of what is coming next._

_She lets them fall._

_She can't fight them anymore._

_She's going to hurt._

_He's going to hurt her._

"Je ne peux pas, monsieur._"_

_She tries to make him understand._

_He never does._

_She drops to the floor in a praying bow._

_Swish. Swish. Swish._

_Go his robes._

_Swish. Swish. Swish._

"_Crucio_."

_He murmurs. _

_Pain._

_Pain._

_Screaming._

_She's going to die._

_She's going to die._

_She wants to die._

_Thank you, _Myrddin.

_She will be free._

_The pain subsides._

_Silence._

_She is trembling._

_She tastes blood._

_Her blood._

_She hit her head on the floor when she was writhing with the effects of Silas' Cruciatus curse._

_She dares to look up at Silas with wide, crystalline eyes._

_His eye are black._

_No longer grey._

_They are dark._

_He is feeding off of her._

_He is feeding off of her fear._

"Changes pour moi."

_He murmurs._

_She shakes her head._

_No._

_She can't._

_She is not strong enough._

_She doesn't know how._

_She's not special._

_She's not like the others._

_That didn't matter to Silas._

_Swish. Swish. Swish._

_He was advancing toward her._

_Everything was going to fall apart._

_And there was nothing she could do about it._

"Je suis désolée,"

_She whispers._

"Je suis désolée."

_Arielle's world went black with the effects of his spell._

The beautiful blonde woman was sobbing uncontrollably, each shudder of sadness wracking her body and constricting her airways. She could barely breathe. She hurt all over with the memory of Silas' curses. She felt like her limbs were being torn from her body with the effects of a Change. She realized she was screaming.

"Arielle?!" Fleur's voice materialized on the other side of the door. Arielle made no move, instead froze, tears still running adamantly down her face. "Arielle, _ch__é__rie_, _ouvres la porte,"_ The older woman coaxed, speaking to the scared woman gently in their native tongue. "_C'est d'accord. Toute est d'accord, ma fille."_ Arielle heard the door click, and Fleur stepped in quickly, slowly crouching down to Arielle's level and touching her hand cautiously to the shaking shoulder of the younger French woman. She winced at the gentle touch of the half-Veela; it had been so long since somebody had actually given her a caring, safe touch. She had been raped. She had been Crucio'd. She had been cut. She had been stretched. She had been beaten. She had been poisoned. One year. One year was all it took for Arielle to be so severely damaged that she could never be rebuilt the same way again.

"Fleur..." Arielle croaked, her voice cracked and withered from crying. She glanced at the runes on her forearms and felt fresh tears prick her eyes.

"_Je sais, ma fille. Je sais."_ Fleur soothed, enveloping her in her arms and rocking her slowly back and forth. Arielle clutched the charcoal-coloured fabric of the overlarge cardigan Fleur was wearing –much like the periwinkle one she had donned– in her fingers, her tears staining the soft, reassuring fabric.

* * *

**TRANSLATIONS:**

_Myrddin Emrys –_ Merlin

"_Sauve-moi de mes cauchemars._" _- _"Save me from my nightmares."

_Myrddin – _Merlin

_Tywysoges y Niwloedd –_ Princess of the Mists

_niwloedd –_ princess/princesses

_Merch y M__ôr –_ Daughter of the Sea

_Brenin Tragwyddoldeb –_ Ruler of Eternity

"_Laissez-la aller, Michel." - _"Let her go, Michael."

"_Pauvre Michel_." - "Poor Michael."

"_Levez-vous, madamoiselle." _- "Stand up, miss."

"_Chante pour moi, ma petite moineau." - _"Sing for me, my little sparrow."

"_Non." _- "No."

"_Chantes." _- "Sing."

"_Belle, ma petite." _- "Beautiful, my pet."

"_Newid i mi, ft aderyn y to bach." _- "Change for me, my little sparrow."

"_Newid." _- "Change."

"_Non, non, non."_ - "No, no, no."

"_Je ne peux pas, monsieur." _- "I can't, sir."

"_Changes pour moi." _- "Change for me."  
_"Je suis désolée," _- "I'm sorry,"

"Arielle, _ch__é__rie_, _ouvres la porte," _- "Arielle, darling, open the door."  
"_C'est d'accord. Toute est d'accord, ma fille."_ - "It's alright/okay. Everything is alright/okay, my dear."

"_Je sais, ma fille. Je sais." _- "I know, my dear I know."

**Preview:**

"**Charlie was _never_ muddled by females. He was always cool in the face of feminine charm. He never backed down from a woman's advances. He had been a womanizer at one point, back in his early dragon-taming days, before he realized that he wanted more than just one night stands, before he realized that he wanted a real relationship."**


	5. slowly sinking

**little bird**

* * *

_"__Slowly sinking, wasting, crumbling like pastries."_

* * *

Charlie sat at the kitchen table, arms crossed over it and looking intently at Bill. The eldest Weasley was sitting opposite him calmly, a blank expression on his face. The younger was waiting for an answer. He wanted to know about the girl in Shell Cottage that he had never seen before. He wanted to know why she ran away from him. He wanted to know Arielle. But Bill wouldn't give him that.

There was something off about Arielle, but he didn't know what it was. She was beautiful; perhaps far more beautiful than any woman he had encountered. Or perhaps she was a half-Veela, like Fleur. Perhaps she was an enchantress who magicked herself into the most beautiful body imaginable, or warped his brain to see her as beautiful. The last woman he had considered drop-dead gorgeous was a young Romanian beauty by the name of Camelia, who worked as a volunteer Healer at the same dragon reserve Charlie worked at. She was a petite woman, with a mass of dark chocolate-coloured ringlets that were often half-heartedly tied back in a quick, loose knot, looking like they were about to spring free at any moment. Her wide, doe-like eyes were a deep amber colour, and they had a permanently worried and maternal look to them. She had thin eyebrows that had a natural arch to them, giving her an air of surprise. Her skin was pale and dotted erratically with freckles, and she blushed easily, especially around Charlie. Her face was heart-shaped and kind, with a miniature mouth with constantly pursed lips that were a deep rosy shade.

But Arielle... Arielle was different. She wasn't exactly Charlie's type –not to say that he actually had a type– but instead she was more... graceful. He loved firecracker women, but she had an air of ember; it was like she did have a fire, but it was a slow-burning one, one that could be stoked into a full-fledged flaming monster or one that could give a steady pulsing warmth. She was tall, almost as tall as Charlie, and reminded him distinctly of a deer. She was physically eloquent, if that made any sense at all. It was all Charlie could think of, really, with his brain being so addled at the sight of the attractive woman.

That was the other thing. Charlie was _never_ muddled by females. He was always cool in the face of feminine charm. He never backed down from a woman's advances. He had been a womanizer at one point, back in his early dragon-taming days, before he realized that he wanted more than just one night stands, before he realized that he wanted a real relationship.

"Well?" He demanded.

"I don't know what you mean, Charlie." Bill replied. Charlie pushed his chair out from the table and stood up angrily.

"Bloody hell you don't know what I mean!" He cried. "I just moseyed on in here because _you_ invited me, and I try to say two words to this gorgeous girl I see in your living room, she fucking freaks out and _attacks me_, and you're acting all bloody secretive and passive and I only want to know what the fuck is going on!"

"Arielle didn't attack you, Char." Bill replied coolly, standing up on his side of the table. Though he was a good head taller than Charlie, his younger brother didn't back down and instead glared at him with the ferocity of a Hungarian Horntail mother. "She got scared and ran into you. That's not the same thing." Charlie could hear the clench in his jaw as he spoke. His older brother was having a hard time keeping his cool. His bright cobalt eyes met the darker ones of the eldest Weasley brother with a desperate shock of sapphire lightning.

"Bill, I just want to fucking understand! Why the fuck won't you tell me?!" Bill slammed his hands down on the table.

"CHARLIE! Did you ever stop to think that maybe I _can't _tell you?! Did you ever stop to think that maybe I really want to tell you?! Did you ever consider that this whole ordeal has _nothing to do with you_?! Or are you too self-centred to realize that this is bigger than all of us?! Maybe if I tell you I'll be putting my wife and children in danger! Maybe if I tell you I'll be putting _you_ in danger! Maybe if I tell you what in Merlin's name is going on, then I could very well put the girl I'm trying to save right back in danger!" Bill was the least hotheaded of all the Weasley children, but right now the familiar Weasley temper was rearing its fiery ginger head. "MAYBE YOU SHOULD JUST GO THE FUCK BACK TO ROMANIA, CHARLIE, IF YOU'RE GOING TO BE SUCH A GIT!"

"Boys!" Both gingers spun wildly to see Fleur standing in the doorway, a horrified and angry expression disgracing her beautiful face. Her eyes blazed with the familiar periwinkle fire that displayed her French heritage, and her hair seemed to float slowly into a blazing halo around her head, the glow emanating from it was the deep orange of the angry Veela flames. Her voice was icy as she reprimanded them, starting with a string of curses and swears in French. "Be quiet! We 'ave a guest, oo eez terrified of ze two _connards_ downstairs! _S'il vous-pla__î__t_, calm down _ou_ take zis ou'side!" With that, she glared at the both of them and swished back upstairs. The brothers eyed each other sheepishly.

"Sorry, love." Bill whispered at his wife's retreating back.

Charlie flashed a passive glance at the older redhead. "So, are you going to tell me now?" He asked curiously. His brother shot him a glare that would have Ron wither right then and there. But Charlie was not Ron.

"No." He replied sharply.

"Why, Bill?" The younger asked again.

"Because."

"Because why?"

"Just because, okay?"

"No, I want to know."

"Well, no."

"Why?"

"Because."

"Because why?"

"Damnit, Charlie. I'm not going through this again."

"Then tell me."

"No."

"Yes."

"Nope."

"Yes."

"No, Charles."

"Yes, William." He smirked. "Isn't that what Fleur says in bed?"

"Fuck off, baby brother."

"Well that was rude and unnecessary."

"Oh, I think it was _very_ necessary."

"It's a weird word, isn't it?"

"What's a weird word?"

"Necessary."

"Haven't really every thought about it."

"Knock knock."

"What?"

"Knock. Knock."

"Charlie, you're being ridiculous."

"Knock knock."

"I'm not going to do this, Charlie."

"Hey, guess what?"

"What?"

"There's somebody at the door."

"What? No, there isn't."

"Yes there is."

"Charlie."

"I could've sworn I heard somebody go 'knock knock'."

"You're pathetic."

"Knock knock; hey, there it is again!"

"You're being ridiculous."

"Knock knock."

A sigh. "Who's there?"

"Please tell me about the attractive bird in your guest room."

"No, Charlie."

"Why?"

"Because I already told you why."

"No you didn't."

"That's right; I didn't."

"You're a prat, you know that?"

"Aw, thanks Char. That means a lot."

"You're so immature."

"I'm practicing."

"Practicing?"

"For when I get to be the embarrassing father?"

"Oh, right."

"Yeah."

Silence set in as the brothers finished their conversation. Bill finally sat down, tapping his fingers rhythmically on the wooden table. Charlie retook his own seat, and let out a long yawn, complete with a signature tired-Charlie stretch. Bill sighed.

"I can't tell you, Charlie."

"We established that much already."

"No, I mean seriously, I can't tell you."

"Even though I'm your brother?"

"Yeah."

"Oh." More silence. "Why?"

"Because it has to do with some Protection Program through the Ministry." Bill shrugged. "There's some stuff going down in France that involves Ari. Fleur and I are taking her in for a while."

"Oh."

"Yeah." Bill ran a hand lazily through his hair as he eyed his brother casually. "I shouldn't even have told you _that_, but I did, so you have to keep it quiet, yeah?"

"Of course." Charlie nodded seriously, watching as his brother frowned at the table. "Can you just explain what happened when I first got here?" He asked. Bill sighed and nodded after a few moments of consideration.

"Yeah. The girl doesn't understand much English, and she hasn't exactly had the best experience with men in the past year, so she's a little bit weird that way." Charlie clenched his jaw as Bill explained this to him. He hated domestic abuse more than pretty much anything, and the mere thought of somebody touching the beautiful woman upstairs almost made him sick to his stomach. "She got here yesterday, and she warmed up to Fleur because they knew each other from Beauxbatons, and she only likes me because I'm married to Fleur so she's assuming I'm a good guy." Bill shrugged and let slip a small smile. "I assume you freaked her out just by being yourself, and she's never seen you before and wasn't expecting you, plus you're a bloke, so she bolted." He almost smirked, and Charlie presumed it was of the memory of the younger brother's flabbergasted face when Arielle ran from him. "Ginny and Harry are looking after Adèle and Adrien while Ari's here, so Fleur is going back and forth to tend to them."

Charlie nodded in understanding, realizing that his brother had just disclosed more information than he probably should have, and he knew it. "Secret's safe with me, Bill." He replied.

"Damn right it is." His brother warned, waggling a finger at him, his tone only semi-serious. Charlie stared back at him with the most focused stare he could muster. He was dead serious.

"Brother's oath." He replied.

"Brother's oath."

* * *

**TRANSLATIONS: **

_connards _- bastards

_S'il vous-pla__ît –_ Please

_ou_ – or

**Preview:**

"**She wasn't sure if she should go up to him. She wanted to, for sure; she wanted to go up and sit down next to him and apologize for acting so unusually when he made an effort to greet her. But she couldn't. She couldn't do that. She was too scared to. She couldn't do it. She was too scared. But she was doing exactly that which she was afraid of."**


	6. hold me

**little bird**

* * *

"_I'm as cold as the wind blows so hold me in your arms."_

* * *

When Arielle had calmed down, Fleur had explained to her the enigma that was Charlie Weasley. He was one of Bill's younger brothers –Arielle then learned that Bill had four surviving younger brothers (one had died in the battle of Hogwarts) and a younger sister– and was the closest in age to Bill. Arielle had to admit that, looking back on it, Charlie did have the same shade of hair and there were other similarities between him and the eldest Weasley child. Fleur told her that Charlie worked as a dragonologist on a dragon reserve in Romania, which the younger woman found extremely fascinating. He could play any Quidditch position, but favoured Beater, like his younger brother, George – and George's late twin, Fred. He was two years younger than Bill, which meant he was five years older than Fleur and six years older than Arielle. He was a gentleman, but his temper was not abnormal of a Weasley's and often blew up with only a slight prod. He was once a _coureur de jupons_, but he had settled down since then and now was quite mellow, even though he did have a legendary sexual prowess to keep up with.

If Arielle was being quite honest, she would admit that Charlie was incredibly attractive, and she regretted his first impression of her. She was still incredibly unused to kindness and affection because of her months with Silas, but she was managing well enough. She only flinched when somebody unexpectedly entered a room or spoke loudly and suddenly, instead of hightailing it to the guest room.

But yes, Charlie was a sight for Arielle's sore eyes. He was about an inch taller than her, with gentle sapphire eyes that had a sparkle in them that the young Frenchwoman had never seen before, and voluminous, fiery hair that was tousled from having his hands run through it far too many times and was shaggy enough to reach the bottoms of his ears in the occasional loose waves. The fire that was his hair continued onto his face in handsome sideburns and a pleasant beard that encircled his mouth, wisping off his chin in strands of flame. He was well built, and his skin was tanned and freckled, presumably from working outside for his job. He had countless scars of various sizes, some in the shapes of claw slashes and others like patches where he hadn't been careful enough in avoiding a dragon's flame. He had tattoos on both of his arms: on his left, there was a Peruvian Vipertooth circled around his upper arm; on his right wrist were the letters "_IA ZI_", which Fleur said meant "seize the day" in Romanian.

Ah yes, Charlie Weasley was an interesting character.

But no matter how attractive, or interesting, or intriguing he was, Arielle was still scared of him. It didn't have anything to do with him, exactly; it was more just the after-effects of being locked in a dungeon and abused for eight months. She hadn't had a good experience with a man during those eight months; the most recent one was when Bill kissed the top of her head at breakfast this morning. It did make her flinch a little bit at first, but she realized that she had enjoyed the simple, friendly gesture.

Arielle stood at the door of Shell Cottage, looking out towards the water. To any onlooker, it would appear that her blue-green eyes were fixated intently on the cerulean waves that washed over the shallow sand bar that neighboured Bill and Fleur's home. However, they were connected with the back of the ginger-haired head of a certain handsome, tattooed dragonologist that was sitting in solitude on the farthest dune from the cottage.

"_Alles, ma ch__è__re. Alles lui parler."_ Fleur's voice reassured her. Arielle turned around to see the older Frenchwoman standing in the doorway with a knowing look on her heavenly face. Arielle sighed.

"_Mais, _Fleur_, je ne peux pas; tu sais que je ne peux pas!"_ The younger offered in rebuttal. She wanted desperately to sit next to him. Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe. Maybe she shouldn't. No, she probably shouldn't. She should. Why not? Why? He wouldn't want to talk to her after their meeting. He thought she was a raving lunatic, she was sure. Who could blame him? She was crazy.

"Arielle. _Alles."_ Fleur shooed her out of the house, and Arielle stood on the top stair, refusing to move any farther. She wasn't sure if she should go up to Charlie. She wanted to, for sure; she wanted to go up and sit down next to him and apologize for acting so unusually when he made an effort to greet her. But she couldn't. She couldn't do that. She was too scared to. She couldn't do it. She was too scared. But she was doing exactly that which she was afraid of. She had to go apologize to Charlie.

Her footsteps were soundless as she gracefully glided through the sand dunes towards the redheaded man seated in the sand. His shaggy hair was tousled by the gentle breeze; the sight of the curling ginger fire atop his head made her smile a genuine amused smile. She could see the top of another tattoo poking out from the back of the collar of his shirt, which interested her greatly. She wondered what the tattoo was. She then realized that he would have to take his shirt off for her to see the tattoo clearly. She couldn't decide whether or not she enjoyed this idea; Charlie was a man that she wouldn't mind seeing shirtless, but with everything that had happened... she didn't know. When she was about three metres away, Arielle stopped. She stood there, watching him and deciding whether or not she wanted to turn back. This was her last chance before he might notice her. This was her last chance to turn back and escape the fear that she had of this strange man.

He was still strange to her; Fleur said they could trust him, but that wasn't enough for Arielle. When it came to Bill, Fleur's word was fine, but that's because Bill and Fleur were married, so Fleur had done a lot more than just decide to trust him. With Charlie, he wasn't in on Arielle's secrets; he knew next to nothing about her except that she was a crazy blonde lady who ran away from handsome men she had just met.

She realized that she didn't know how to talk to Charlie. He spoke English and Romanian, and probably didn't know ten words of Arielle's native language. She herself spoke a bit of English –her father had insisted she know how to carry on a simple conversation in the strange tongue– and might be able to communicate with Charlie in shaky English. She had started taking English classes when she was six years old, once a week for two hours, taught by her father, the business man. This helped her greatly when, while she was still at Beauxbatons, her school went to the Triwizard Tournament that was hosted at Hogwarts, Charlie's past school. Only a few of the students at the British school were more-or-less fluent in French, so Arielle's knowledge of the English language had helped her and her fellow Beauxbatons students more than a few times.

Taking a deep breath in, and out, she took the last few steps forward and gently sat down beside Charlie, preparing herself to speak a language she hadn't spoken in about a year. "_Madamoiselle_." He acknowledged her by inclining his head and murmuring a greeting. His voice was friendly-sounding, and she was almost taken aback by the permanent huskiness that ran through it. A pregnant silence hung between the two of them as both of them mulled over what to say. Arielle spoke first, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I am_ d__é__sol__é__e,_" She replied quietly in broken English. "I did_ pens__é__ que-" _He shushed her gently, reaching out a hand to touch hers, but drawing it back slowly and making a fist that he placed back on the ground.

"_C'est d'accord, madamoiselle."_ He shrugged her apology off. She was surprised that he spoke French, and the fact that he was multi-lingual intrigued her greatly. She had not met very many men who could speak more than one language, let alone more than three... except for... Silas. Silas spoke French, Welsh, Gaelic, English, Russian, Latin, basic Germanic, variations and tongues that had been dead for centuries. "Arielle?" He asked; she could hear the blatant concern in his voice. She realized that she was shaking. She had started at the mere thought of Silas and what he could do. "Arielle, _es-tu d'accord?"_ She nodded her head insistently, jaw clenched, before giving up and shaking her head slowly. No. No, she was not alright. She would never be alright. She would never be the same. Not after what had happened to her.

She was a different person now.

"Can I-?" He cleared his throat and paused, probably searching for the words in French. _"Est-ce-que je peux t'aides?_" Charlie enquired comfortingly, turning slightly to face her. She shook her head and shut her eyes tightly, forcing her shudders to go away and to leave her alone.

"No." She said quietly, fiddling with her hands and then drawing her knees up to her chest, hugging lean, tanned legs. "You _ne peux pas _help me." Arielle let out a long sigh, turning her gaze to stare out across the water, away from Charlie and Shell Cottage and the world. The rolling waves were hypnotic, and she felt herself get lost in watching them.

They were calling to her, beckoning to her and persuading her to plunge into the crystal-blue blankets of water. She wanted more than anything to feel the soothing coolness of the ocean wash over hear, to feel the salt sting in her wounds and reassure her that they were things of the past, to drown the past eight months in the crashing waves of the depths. Arielle had always loved the water, more so that anyone else her age, except for her sisters. Every woman on her mother's side of the family was like a fish when it came to water. It was curious to Arielle, but she didn't mind; she was happy when she was in the ocean, or the lake next to _Le Manoir des Nuits_, her father's family's manor that had been passed down to him, the heir of the entire Chevalier estate.

"Arielle?" The newly-familiar husky voice called her from her reverie. Charlie. She finally pulled her eyes away from the sea to meet Charlie's. Arielle was greatly interested to learn that his irises were an exact ocean blue. She got lost in them for a moment, just like she had with the waves. "Arielle?"

"Ari, _s'il vous plaît_." Arielle replied, her voice soft and still staring into his eyes. He didn't look away; he simply held her gaze with a certain intensity that she had never seen before. She blushed slightly and turned her head, suddenly finding that the tops of her knees had unexpectedly become extraordinarily interesting and engaging.

"Ari..." Her nickname sounded lovely on his tongue. She disliked being called her given name, Arielle-Marie, and 'Arielle' wasn't so bad, but it was too regal for her taste. Also, she had been referred to it quite a lot during the past eight months; it would always be tainted with the screams of the rest of the Thirteen and the rough caress of Silas and his men.

She sat there, next to Charlie, staring out at the sea once again, perfectly happy and unafraid for the first time in eight months.

* * *

**TRANSLATIONS:**

_coureur de jupons – _ladies man

"_Alles, ma ch__è__re. Alles lui parler."_ _- _"Go, my dear. Go talk to him."

"_Mais, _Fleur_, je ne peux pas; tu sais que je ne peux pas!"_ - "But, Fleur, I cannot; you know that I cannot!"

"Arielle. _Alles._" - "Arielle. Go."

"_Madamoiselle_." - "Miss."

"I am_ désolée,_" - "I am sorry,"

"I did_ pensé que-" - _"I did think that-"

"_C'est d'accord, madamoiselle." - _"It's alright/okay, miss."

"Arielle, _es-tu d'accord_?" - "Arielle, are you alright/okay?"

"_Est-ce-que je peux t'aides?" _- "Can I help you?"

"You _ne peux pas _help me." - "You cannot help me."

_Le Manoir des Nuits_ – The Manor of Night

"Ari, _s'il vous plaît_." - "Ari, please."

**Preview: **

"**If she was anybody else, he would just lean over and give her a kiss on the cheek. He would laugh and talk and tell her that it was going to be okay. But she flinched away from him. She was afraid of him. The fact that Arielle was different, quite frankly, confused him. She was unusual. She was strange. But Charlie... Charlie didn't really mind. He wanted this new different. He wanted unusual and strange. He wanted Arielle."**


	7. author's note 1

**Sorry kids; this isn't actually a chapter. It's mostly just me saying how I'm superduper sorry that I haven't updated.**

**Life's tough and there's been a lot going on in my little corner of the galaxy, but I'm writing and I promise that I will update as soon as I possibly can. I have the seventh (?) chapter on the go, and it's still in its beta stage so stay with me.**

**Now, somebody fabulous named ****zubrowka**** asked about my mix of cultures and languages, as well as what my deal is with the selkies because they're not Welsh. This is a fantastic question that I am most excited to answer. Without giving too much away, I'm just going to say that once we know a little more about Arielle, everything will be understood and awesome and whatnot and you'll all be ridiculously confused but then everything will make sense and I'll hand out party favours. So, yeah. You'll just have to wait and see and hope that I get off my ass quick enough to update regularly again. **

**love,**

**e.**


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